


Shadows on Concrete

by Hermit9



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), Supernatural
Genre: BAMF everyone, Gen, Post-canon (TV version) for Shadowhunters, SPN Fix-It, Season 14ish for SPN, Timeline? What Timeline?, fluff with plot, witch!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23328070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hermit9/pseuds/Hermit9
Summary: The call came on Sam’s phone, which wasn’t unusual. What was unusual is that it came on his good phone, not one of his hunt burners. It didn’t last more than thirty seconds and ended with a “we’re on our way”. Dean didn’t question it. They had too few friends to be picky about calls for backups.Driving into New York was claustrophobic. There were people everywhere, crowding on sidewalks and looking down from balconies and towering steel spires. Baby wasn’t meant for narrow streets shared with bike couriers and jaywalkers and buskers. By the time they’d pulled out of the crawl of traffic and off the bridge Dean was ready to be done with the city. There was a reason he didn’t take urban hunts if he could help it.
Comments: 36
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

**DEAN**

"They're here," said Cas as Dean shouldered the weapons bag. "Upstairs."

"Good," he answered, the relief genuine and matched by Sam's expression.

The path to the roof was blocked by a rolling fence, with a brightly painted sign announcing repair work. The door to the staircase was unlocked and the metal rang under their boots as they climbed up two steps at a time. Stepping out on the roof wasn’t as freeing as it should have been. In fact, trading the fluorescent lighting and yellow paint for orange-tinted sodium lamps and the crowding masses of surrounding buildings felt a bit like being ripped off. 

“Oh good, you showed,” said a voice to their left.

If Dean hadn't been expecting the twins, he wouldn’t have recognized Max. His voice was lower, harsher, made raspy by the smoke of the cigarette he held. His easy smile was gone and his eyes were cold as if all the softness had been strained from him, leaving behind only the sharp edges. Max was wrapped in a black leather jacket, more utilitarian than fashionable, leaning against the wall with discarded cigarette butts indicating that he’d been waiting for a long time.

“Sorry it took so long,” Sam said as he slipped past Dean. “Wish we could have been here faster.” 

Cas shuffled, the self-conscious half step he always took when reminded that once he could have flown them here, as easy as the blink of an eye. 

“Don’t mind him,” said Alicia, with a smile. “You guys made it here in amazing time and we’re glad for the help.” She wrapped Dean in a hug and, in the ambient smog, it was easy to forget the wood and sap scent that clung to her. Where her twin had aged lifetimes in the last few months she looked the same, down to the soft curls of her hair. She moved on to Sam and then Cas, equally as happy in her greeting. Sam grabbed Max into one of his bear hugs as well and Dean wondered where along the line they’d all became huggers. 

“So this is it?” Dean asked to turn things back on the safe subject of business. “It’s awfully… open. How come nobody noticed if someone was summoning demons up here?” 

"Willful ignorance," said Alicia with a small, helpless rise of her hands.

"Locals assume it's for a movie or something similar," Max continued." And if it isn't they are better off not knowing, so they look the other way."

"That's convenient," huffed Sam.

"Welcome to the big apple," Max said with a smile and a wink, sounding almost like himself. He was still standing by Sam’s side, probably closer than he needed to be. Dean relaxed at the sight. He was very familiar with that dance, and it would do the kid some good, to get some old fashion distraction.

"So what's the plan? Wanna walk us through?" Sam asked.

Max shrugged and walked a few feet forward to gesture towards the open space; the red cherry of his cigarette flickered with the movement. It contrasted the dark purple magic that twined lazily around his ring and through his fingers. "Sis and I will need to burn off the summons circle."

Dean knelt next to Max, running his finger over the marking. He could barely see it, oily black on black asphalt. It had been carved or burnt in, not just painted. Whoever had put the markings down wanted it to be permanent and reusable.

"Of course," Alicia continued, "as soon as we start doing that, every creepy-crawly this was used to call is gonna feel it and swarm."

"You need us to watch your backs," Sam said.

"If you think you can handle it," Max replied with sarcasm sharp and heavy enough to leave scars. Well deserved ones at that.

"What are we expecting?" Dean asked, drawing the fire back to himself, away from Sammy.

"Demons." Cas flipped his angel blade as he walked around the markings, careful not to step directly on any of the lines. "True-form demons."

"Bullshit. Even the freaking princes had to lug around a meat suit."

"Yeah. These seem to be a New York City special." Max shrugged out of his jacket and threw it away. "You'll see."

Getting into position was easy. Shotguns and salt cartridges bandoliers, angel blades and the familiar glint of Ruby's knife in Sam's hand. The rest of the gear got secured inside the door, hopefully out of the way. Dean moved across the roof to guard Alicia's back, entrusting Max to Sam and vice versa. Cas paced along the outer edge, exposed without the false comfort of the cinder block stairwell at his back.

The twins knelt across from each other at opposite ends, looking smaller for the distance. They took a deep breath, synchronized in a way that would have been impressive if it wasn't creeping Dean out in all the ways he wasn't allowed to voice. Not now, not ever. They clapped their hands, the sound — too loud — like a thunder strike, then laid their palms on the ground.

The circle reacted immediately, the markings turning from black to mulberry wine. Magic arched between Max and Alicia, highlighting just how massive the circle was. Who in their right mind drew anything occult with a diameter close to a hundred feet?

Dean frowned, his brain fighting to understand the mismatch of sensory input. There was a hum against his skin like the static from getting too close to a tesla coil on a fairground. It made his hair stand on end and he could taste something close to ozone at the back of his throat. He had been expecting some dramatic wind or the hissing electric sounds to match the angry magical display, but there was nothing of the sort. Only the background noise of the unsleeping city all around them.

“They’re coming,” said Cas. Dean shuffled, planting down his feet, raising the shotgun, eye scanning for targets. He hadn’t missed the plural in the warning. 

He heard the demons before he saw them, the dry rasp of chittering claws over brick and cement. They crawled up the building like some nightmarish rats. Each was about the size of a medium dog — if dogs were made of chitin, razors and jaws that came straight out of a Predator set. For a moment Dean was thrown back unto the rack, high on Alastair’s rock, watching as the demons scurried after scraps, cut after cut, after cut. 

“Dean!” Sam’s voice, panic rising around the edges. Dean moved on muscle memory, firing at the demons in quick succession. The things rolled out of the way, spidery limbs giving them mobility in all the wrong directions. More shots echoed from behind him, letting him know Sam was also getting in range.

“The salt doesn’t hurt them,” Sam shouted, followed by the clatter of a sawed-off being dropped. Dean swore and let go of his gun as well, drawing the angel blade. He had hoped to stay out of reach of those claws and mandibles, indefinitely. 

But since nothing ever worked out quite in their favour, here they were, knife fighting with true-form demons like something out of Dean’s trauma-born nightmares. He stabbed the first demon with a smirk as it sparked out, then stumbled when the creature turned to ash instead of remaining as a death counter-weight. Dean rolled with the lurch, landing on his shoulder with a wince, and scrambled to stab a second demon closing in on Alicia. When the ashes fell, two more were taking its place. Of course, there were.

Across from him, Sam was having about as much luck, his height getting in his own way with the targets being so small. Castiel was a flurry of tan and embers, his movement fluid and economical. It was easy to forget that Cas was a warrior until he had a chance to show off. 

Pain jolted him back to his own quadrant. One of the demons had clawed his way into his calf, sinking too deep to consider. Dean grunted and folded himself over to stab the thing through its open maw.

"How much longer do they need?" He yelled as he struggled up, thanking the miracles of adrenaline as he kicked yet another of the things off the roof. He didn't know if the fall could kill it but it felt good.

"Longer than we can keep the demons back," Cas answered with a grunt. He threw his angel blade at one creature and dropped to his knees, smiting two more in a flash of righteous grace. Dean wished he had more time to enjoy the sight but more demons were coming and he had to admit he couldn't argue with Cas' assessment.

Dean shuffled closer to Alicia, wiping the sweat off his palm against his jeans so the angel blade wouldn't slip. The creatures were still coming but they seemed to be waiting now. Giving Cas a wide berth and gathering so they could rush at once and not get picked off as individuals. Fucking hive mind could strategize.

"I'll buy you as much time as I can," he said to Alicia. He didn't know if she could hear him, or Max through her. "Go down swinging." 

There were six of the things massed in front of him, at least as many on Sam's side he would guess. If they were lucky Cas would be able to come help one of them and Dean _prayed_ against all hope that it would be Sam. 

He could almost see the signal to jump, the rustle of limbs and goopy drool. Dean braced as much as he could with the flaring pain in his leg, only to watch three of the demons burn up. Something clattered to the ground and he could have sworn it was an arrow, but there was no way to get a good look. Until two more whistled by his ears, hitting perfect bullseyes. Dean stabbed the remaining demon and turned around, reassessing their odds.

A stranger was carving a path between Sam and Castiel, moving with a speed that made the eye want to water. It was beautiful and inhuman wrapped in one. A loud howling shriek drowned out the rest of Dean’s thoughts, as a larger creature, human-sized but with the same quadruple hinged jaw jumped down from the building on their left. It landed in the middle of the circle, disrupting the flow of magic as it curved around around the creature or sizzled and died upon its skin. Dean flipped the angel blade into a throwing grip, unwilling to step into the circle and get fried himself. He raised his arm and threw as hard as he could. The demon exploded in a burst of orange and reds just as the blade reached it so that it passed through the space it had occupied to land at Sam’s feet. 

“What the hell?” Sam asked, wiping ashes from his brow with his left hand. His right hand was hanging, limp, at his side and spoke either of a dislocated shoulder or a stab wound. He met Dean’s eyes then pointed with his chin towards the circle. The embers were gone but the magical red burst remained, feeding into the twin’s purple and acting, if anything, as an accelerant that helped the sigil melt into nothingness. 

“I was going to ask the same thing to you,” said the stranger. Now that he was standing still Dean could see he was about as tall as Cas, younger than any of them. The feeling hit him hard, all at once. Had he ever been this young, this cocky and leather jacket wrapped? Was this how Bobby had felt every time they rushed off to a job? “I mean, the warlocks, I get. But why are a couple of mundanes involved in this mess?”

“Cover your eyes!” Cas yelled. Dean dropped down by reflex, using his mass to shield Alicia’s back. The sudden movement sent agony through his leg and he knew he wouldn’t be able to get back up. 

A flash of light washed over Dean in a silent explosion with the shockwave hitting a second later like being thrown from a car. He felt Alicia push him back, let himself lie flat on his back, looking for his breath. He raised his head to confirm everyone else was fine and then let oblivion claim him.


	2. Chapter 2

**ALEC**

Alec had been mildly worried when he’d gotten the fire message from Izzy. It wasn’t rare for her to request backup, despite having a fully staffed institute at her command. Usually, it meant she wanted to convince Magnus to take them for dinner afterward. Sometimes it was a delicate matter with downworlder relationships and, despite the progress at the Clave and back in Idris, the Lightwoods were still the Shadowhunters most likely to be trusted by downworlders. Rarely, was it an actual emergency.

As he stepped through the portal from Idris to New York, most of the alarms were going off in The Institute. Isabelle was waiting for him, for them, arms crossed and almost vibrating from tension. Jace was standing with her, geared up and itching to go fight, the familiar battle song singing through their parabatai bond.

“What’s the situation?” Alec asked as soon as he released Izzy from a hug, happiness at seeing his sister gaining first priority. He spent more and more time in Idris, fixing the intangible mess of the bureaucracy there. Though the work was deeply gratifying he missed having his family around him.

“Lorenzo came by yesterday,” Izzy answered, following him to ops as she did. “Two out of town warlocks were looking for Magnus. He said it might have been a personal call, but to keep our eyes open.”

“I don’t understand,” Magnus said. “Why not contact me directly via fire message?”

“I said the same thing. It’s not like you’re that hard to reach. I thought that was that, until tonight.” She gestured to the main ops table where Jace took over to display their current zone of interest. “Massive warlock activity, enough of a spike that if I hadn’t known better I’d have asked if it was your doing, Magnus. And—”

“Shrax demons,” Jace continued. “Lots of them.”

"Oh no," Magnus said softly. He had one hand raised, fingers plucking at invisible threads with his magic dancing right beneath his skin. "Pumpkin, you should have waited."

"Everything alright?" Alec asked. 

"We need to go. We need to go right now. Isabelle, please have your men mind the perimeter?" With a flourish, Magnus opened a portal, grabbed Alec’s hand and walked through. Jace reacted without hesitation, his hand landing on Alec’s back so he could follow them. 

Alec blinked to adjust to the darkness outside. The familiar skyline told him they were in Brooklyn, the whip of the wind that they were several stories up. 

“Looks like we’re just in time,” Jace said with a grin, eyes flashing gold in time with the flaring of the runes along his body. “Think you can keep up, Mr. Inquisitor?”

“Oh it’s on,” Alec called for his bow, grabbing at arrows as he observed the scene below. Two warlocks, immobilized by whatever they were doing and three men guarding them as best they could. Alec’s eyebrow went up as one of the Shax demons went up in sparks. They didn’t move like Shadowhunters and their weapons weren’t seraph blades so that was unexpected. Jace landed with a roll, going for the far side, sword in hand, slicing his way through two of the Shrax with ease. Alex knocked three arrows, took aim and let them fly in a volley, each finding its own target. The next volley took out the remaining two in that quadrant and he scanned the roof for more. Jace was clearing his side, pointing at new arrivals with a twitch of his sword. 

The Ravner demon was slightly more worrying, but Magnus took care of it with a grunted exhale. Alec turned to ask Magnus a question but stopped himself as he took stock of the magic still pouring out of him, of the unmasked gold of his eyes. There was a shout from below, in warning. Alec smiled as the detonation shockwave hit his back. He would never tell him out loud, but his husband was _magnificent_ when he was performing magic with this much controlled fury.

Jumping down to go examine the damage was easy. Understanding what he was seeing was the hard part. One of the mundanes was down, his jeans soaked with blood and ichor, unmoving. There was no way he could use a rune on him and they didn’t have any supplies on hand to help. The taller mundane, as tall as him which made Alec weirdly uncomfortable, was holding his arm against his chest. The third man slipped through Alec's mind like wisps of smoke.

One of the warlocks was shaking off the aftermath, then ran towards them with a beaming smile.

"Uncle Magnus!" She called before wrapping him in a hug. Her demeanour was that of a happy child, though by her looks alone Alec would have said she was older than him. Immortals were still confusingly vague in their relative ages.

"Poppet!" Magnus exclaimed fondly, holding her tight and resting his cheek on her hair. His expression flickered, in a way that told Alec that Magnus hadn't meant for anyone to see it. He rarely let sorrow and heartbreak shine through his finely honed appearances. "You should have called," he said but not to her, to the other warlock making his way across the roof.

"Did. You didn't pick up."

Magnus frowned. "Did you try—"

"Yes. We're not idiots," the man cut him off. "When we didn't get a reply we figured you were _busy_." He looked pointedly at Alec and Jace. "Looks like we weren't wrong either."

"So…" the woman still nestled in his arms said, "are you going to introduce us?"

"Of course, where are my manners?" Magnus grinned and stepped back so he could gesture freely as he spoke. "Alexander, this is Alicia and Max Banes, my godchildren. Sweet things, this is Alexander Lightwood-Bane, my husband, and his parabatai Jace Herondale."

"Married? You?" Alicia clapped her hands in delight. "Congratulations!"

"Would have been nice to be invited," Max added with a barely concealed edge of scorn.

"Well, you've always wanted to stay far from downworld society and—"

"SON OF A BITCH!"

The curse drowned out the rest of Magnus' careful explanation, much to his obvious relief. Alec took a mental note that this was a conversation that needed to be revisited. 

Alarmed confusion flowed from Jace, making Alec drop a hand to the hilt of his blade as he turned. The mundane he had triaged as an unfortunate casualty was hacking away at his jeans, wincing at the acid burn of the ichor. The leg beneath was whole, no trace of a wound save the stain of spilled blood. 

"I liked these," he said, throwing the rags down in disgust. "Ok, come here." The order was to the tall one. "Brace against Cas. On three"

"This is impossible," Jace said as the man counted loudly to two before reducing the dislocated shoulder with a resounding fleshy crunch. 

Max laughed. "They've heard that often. Uncle Magnus, gentlemen, meet Sam and Dean Winchester." He waited for a beat, amusement floating around him. "And Castiel."

The first two names hadn't gotten any reaction from Alec. Who could tell mundanes apart? The last name sent chills down his spine echoed through the link with Jace. His runes itched on his skin, a kind of warning that wasn't physical but overwhelming. They'd felt it before, with Ithuriel. This stranger looked nothing like an angel.

Alec took a deep breath to still his heart and mind, years of training and focus kicking in as he concentrated on _seeing_. He could see the arcs of magic between Max and Alicia, a current from him to her, like a star being sucked into a loosely woven black hole. The familiar sparkle of Magnus to his left, the golden runes that sang along with Jace's blood. The Winchesters looked like mundanes, no magic, no angel or demon blood, just human spite and stubbornness. The third one, Castiel, looked like an absence. He could see the tired eyes, the shoulders sloped under a weight too great, the ill-suited coat and the rumpled suit. But it was like staring at a painting or a photograph, there was nothing behind, no sense of self or of soul, no power or life.

"Please stop," said Castiel in a disturbingly hoarse voice. "The last person who forced themself on my true form had their eyes burnt out."

"Pam never did forgive you for that," Dean said with a smirk. 

"By the Angel," said Jace. Alec had to agree. There really wasn't more to say.

"What do you say we continue this conversation elsewhere?" Magnus broke the awkward silence and spoke loud enough for his voice to carry over, making the invitation explicit. "I would much rather avoid being put on ichor duty."

"After that light show, ain't no way the cops weren't called," Dean muttered.

"He has a point," said Alec.

"Excellent! There are cocktails in everyone's future I think," Manus snapped and pushed out a golden wave of magic, opening a portal a few feet away from them.

Dean took a step back, half raising the strange triangular blade he had been using against the Shrax. “What the fuck?” 

“Portal,” said Magnus. “I just hate traffic.” 

“Uh uh... “ He raised his chin towards Max. “You vouch for these guys?”

“I vouch for my uncle,” Max answered with a shrug. “He’s family. I’m sure he’ll say the same of his _husband_.” There was a level of venom Alec wasn’t sure he deserved, but that clearly ran deep. 

“Come on,” Alicia said as she grabbed Sam’s arm. “It’ll be fine. I promise. I know where Magnus hides the good whiskey.”

Dean shook his head with a mirthless laugh. “Does he also have coffee?” He turned over his shoulder to add “Cas, grab the duffle?” 

Alec didn’t know what was confusing him the most as he and Magnus made sure everyone was guided through the portal with a hand on their shoulder: that the angel had a pet name, or that he took orders from the mundane. 


	3. Chapter 3

**MAGNUS**

Walking into the New York apartment was always coming _home_. As much as he’d grown to love their house in Alicante, the wards didn’t settle as nicely on his skin and he never could get it to smell quite right. Of course, he usually came home alone or with Alexander, not hosting a crew of alarming guests. Max the wards knew, like they knew all of his children, but Alicia raised confused alarms. The two Hunters were a different matter. He knew of them, everyone knew of the Winchesters if they intended to stay alive in modern times, but he hadn’t — somehow — expected the angelic runes beneath their skin, or the threads of untrained power from the younger one. The angel… His magic sparked and then stretched, thin and strained. He could almost make out the vastness of him, the impossibly condensed mass within the man. He pulled down his wards before they could break. 

“Magnus?” Jace asked, ever the astute soldier. Of course, he’d caught the slight shift in the air or the shimmer of the action. Any changes to routine made Jace’s hackles rise up, no matter how much he denied it. 

Magnus waved his worries off with a flick of his fingers, walking over to the drink cart. First things first. He picked appropriate glassware and hummed as he shook the tumbler. It was only a matter of minutes to ensure everyone had a drink, serving himself and Alec last.

"To us," he said, gently tapping on his husband's glass.

"To us," Alec replied before sipping the martini with a raised eyebrow. Letting him know he could see the nervousness in the ritual.

"Are they always this cute?" Max snickered. He and Alicia had claimed the sofa, leaning into each other with pillows pushed to the sides. The Hunters had claimed the armchairs, Dean holding his mug of coffee like it held salvation and Sam leaning into the cushions to support his shoulder.

From his perch by the sliding door, where he could see everything, Jace laughed. He tried to hide it when eyes turned to him, raising his own glass. “You don’t know the half of it,” he mumbled around a sip, winking at Magnus. Very funny. 

“Well, we would, if Magnus didn’t keep Alexander hidden from us,” Alicia said with a pout. 

“Or hidden us from him, I guess. Like some shameful skeletons in his closet.” 

“Oh Pumpkin, no, it wasn’t that at all.” Magnus put down his glass to kneel before the sofa. He hated to make himself so vulnerable before strangers, but the children deserved it. Never mind the fact that they were, in their own rights, grown-up independent adults now. They’d always be his children. “I wasn’t hiding you. I was hoping to shield you. Marrying a Shadowhunter was dangerous enough, with the generalized... _disdain_ for downworlders among the Children of the Nephilim. To bring three brilliant, powerful, _natural witches_ into it would have done little else than paint a very public target on your backs.” 

There was a series of very _interesting_ sounds behind him as Magnus spoke, but he ignored them, keeping his focus on Max and Alicia. He could see that the anger was draining from them, though Max was holding to it white-knuckled. It was probably the only thing that kept him going.

“Two,” Alicia said. “You’d only have had two to invite.”

“I’m sorry Poppet. Maybe one day, not tonight, but one day, you can tell me what happened to Tasha?” 

Max nodded, rubbing at his eyes and trying to rebuild his slightly nonchalant image. 

"Wait, wait, back up. I have a question," Dean said. "Well maybe two."

Magnus rose to his feet and turned with a carefully calculated flourish. It allowed him to take in the expression of everyone else in the room, gage their potential for sudden violence. He'd half expected the poorly disguised ogling from Dean. He hadn't expected Castiel to have grown pale, as if he'd been struck a blow. "Of course, please go ahead."

"First, can I get one of those cocktail shakers?"

" _Dean…_ " Sam interrupted with a fondly annoyed sigh.

"What? Don't tell me that's not a perfect old fashioned you're holding. Same as this carajillo and I'd wager the... whatever the twins are having."

Sam huffed and rolled his eyes. "Focus? Come on."

"What? You can have boxes of useless things that… that turn people into _a squid_ and I can't have one magic drink thing?"

"It," Magnus interrupted, "uses some of my own magic. Enchanted objects always do unless you go for a curse, but a cursed cocktail would be counterintuitive? What was your second question?"

"Right. Figures." He did something with his face Magnus would have been hard-pressed to describe, let alone replicate. “You put an impressive amount of emphasis on natural witch there. Meaning you’re not one of them? So what are you? Too powerful to be a trained hobbyist. Borrower?” 

"I—" Magnus floundered, taken aback by the question. Not the prying, personal, nature of it: he was far too old to be surprised by poor manners. He was astonished by the blindside it revealed. Surely, with their reputation — and _connections_ — they had to know?

"Magnus is a warlock," Alexander said from behind him. He was holding two of the smaller chairs from the dining room, walking quieter than a mouse since most of his combat runes were still active. He set the chairs down in favour of circling Magnus' waist and pulling him into a half embrace. 

"And as such," Magnus continued, steadied by the quiet presence of his husband, "my magical prowess is the heritage of my demonic parentage."

"I still don't care who your dad was," Alexander stage whispered against his temple.

A quiet " _Oh_ " came from Sam, frightened and amazed in one. Dean's attention snapped to his brother with an angry protective scowl. So they had doubts, if not confirmation. Interesting.

Jace made the ice in his drink settle in order to draw Alexander's attention. He used the glass to point towards the twins without uncrossing his arms, making sure he wasn't perceived as reaching for any weapons. "I don't get the distinction."

Manus sat on the chair Alec had brought, hiding his wince by taking a sip of the drink, fingers nervously making rings chime against each other. Though Alexander -- and his siblings -- had come far, the cognitive gaps in their worldview due to the xenophobic toxicity of the Clave were still minefields.

"We," drawled Max, "don't need the demon touch at all. Both 100% human. Magic isn't as exclusive as you've been led to believe."

The lie fell from his lips far too easily. Not on his own behalf, he was still everything he had always been, underneath it all. But on behalf of his sister. Her heart was still human, _absolutely_ , as was her soul and essence. But the bark and twine that carried her under the heavy glamor was possibly as far removed as one could get from mundane. 

"Speaking of witches," Alicia said and her voice was perhaps a degree strained, the lightness in the tone a conscious effort, "we got rid of that circle, but the borrowers that made it are still out there. We'll need to find them and make sure they’re out of the picture."

"You got a lead on that?" Dean asked.

Max hummed and pulled a sheet of paper from his coat pocket. "Of course we do. Two places they seem to gather in and a few secondary spots we should check"

"Wait," Jace interjected, brows furrowed. "The accords—"

"Don't apply," Magnus said, waving off the worry. "Borrower witches make demon deals for their powers and aren't protected by the Spiral Labyrinth. Ask Lorenzo if you don't believe me."

“No, no, your word is good enough for me.” 

With a groan Dean got to his feet and grabbed the paper. “This isn’t too bad. Nice job, kids. Want to hit them tonight or regroup tomorrow?”

“Witch-hunting is… was… mom’s specialty,” Max answered with a slight waver in his voice. He’d spent the anger earlier and Magnus would have felt guilty for it if the anger clearly hadn’t been consuming Max for far too long. “If we regroup they can as well. Tonight would be best if you can keep up.” 

“Are you calling us old?" Dean asked. There was a growl in his voice but fondness in the tilt of his head and guilt bleeding from him everywhere else. 

"Never," answered Alicia. "Wouldn't use that line in front of our Uncle. It's rude."

Dean groaned. "Immortal. Of course. No offence, but I hate witches." There was an interestingly uncomfortable shuffle from Sam that followed.

"None taken," Magnus answered automatically. "I assure you few are overly fond of Hunters either." He paused for effect, well aware that most eyes were on him. Showmanship was a skill people tended to underestimate. "Why don't Jace and Alexander help you, Poppet?"

"You're not coming with us?" Alexander frowned. 

"There are a few things I want to look into, since we're back in the city. I am sure you are more than capable of handling things and besides my involvement could be politically unwise."

"To his credit, Lorenzo has been much more cooperative since Edom," Jace chuckled.

"Be that as it may." He crossed his legs, fingers flying to the cuff on the shell of his ear which he knew was a tell, but he hadn't managed to train himself out of doing it. "I also want to take a look at that shoulder, if Mr. Winchester is willing. Free of charge, of course."

"It's fine. I could use some painkillers, but I've had worse."

"You should take the offer," said Castiel, from where he was standing in the hallway, slightly outside of the gathering. "We can handle the hunt."

Sam and Dean traded a look then Sam slummed down with a huff. 

"Ok. Me and Cas can hit one of these and you get the other?" Dean asked Max, rather than ordered. It visibly chafed at him to relinquish control but it was a peace offering. 

"How about Alec goes with them," Jace said as he pointed to the twins. "And I can go with you. Even the numbers."

Dean ran a hand down his face and then got to his feet. "Sure. Why not. Let's get this done."

"That's it? No fight? No bitching?" Sam asked, turning toward his brother. He didn't get up, tellingly enough. 

"Look around Sammy. Think I would win that argument?" Dean didn't look around as he spoke. He did, however, look straight at the angel. _Ah_. 

Alexander crossed the room to clasp arms with his parabatai. "Don't do anything stupid."

"I get stabbed once," Jace said with a grin, "and I will never hear the end of it. "

"Not as long as I live," Alexander answered with a smile.

Alicia and Max hid a laugh in a cough.

"Soul-Bonded pair," Magnus said in a conspiratorial whisper, leaning back and facing Castiel. "If you want one, you must welcome them both. I am sure you're familiar with the idea."

In all his long life, Magnus had never known what a hopelessly confused angel looked like. He was fairly certain it was a sight he would never be able to best.


	4. Chapter 4

**SAM**

The door closed with a whisper, moved by shimmering light and invisible force. Despite everything, including common sense, splitting up from Dean was still new and unexplored territory.

"Well then," the warlock said, putting down his glass, "to business. If you would follow me."

He walked into a room that was really more of an alcove, close enough to what Sam gathered to be the front door to be a public space. This, he knew at a glance, was as far as strangers usually came. The walls were covered with floor to ceiling bookcases, shelves crowded by jars and trinkets. There was an order to it, amidst the glorious blossoming chaos of hand-lettered labels and jewel-coloured commercial jam. It was almost, but not quite, entirely unlike Bobby’s ingredient pantry. Less ordered than Rowena’s but also more open. She kept her workspace strictly organized and hidden away, controlled like her research and secret like her heart. This was on display, an open portrait of confidence. 

"You can have a run of things in a moment," Magnus said. "Some of the rarer ingredients I will have to charge for, but I'll give you a discount."

"Why?" 

"Call it professional courtesy? Or me liking the idea of the Winchesters owning me a favour?" He shrugged. "Please hold still. I did promise to take care of this shoulder." There was light and magic glowing from the palm of his hands in pale blues.

Sam braced against the touch, expecting the cold and broken glass feel of Cas’ grace. Magnus’ healing was different. It was warm and it moved through the area like a deep bone soothing massage. 

“You look surprised,” said Magnus.

“Healing. It always hurts a bit.”

“From the angel? Not surprising. The energy probably picks up on the demon in you. I am sure it isn’t intentional. Your… companion doesn’t seem the cruel type.”

Sam smiled over the pulse of self-loathing. “Yeah, well, guess that stain never goes away, does it?” The words hung in the air before the part of his brain that was actually any good with people kicked back online. “No offence. I just... I didn’t ask for a Prince of Hell to feed me blood as a baby.” He didn’t know why he was saying it. It made for a poor excuse or apology and wasn’t a topic he talked about. Ever. 

“None taken,” Magnus replied, far more gracefully than he really needed to. Anger would have been justified. “I did not ask to be born of my father.”

“I just wonder, you know. How… What I could have been,”

“A psychic, maybe. Or a witch. The blood acts like a key, if you will. It lets you reach into different pools of power. But how you use it, the control, who you are… is all you.” 

“Right. Thank you, for saying that.”

“It’s the truth. In my experience, lying to monster hunters is a bad idea, unless they are in the process of hunting you. In which case, lie, lie with every fibre of your being, I say.”

Sam chuckled. He let go of some of the tension. There was something familiar in the banter, in the hum of power around him. Like walking into the bunker for the first time, a sense of belonging. It was a feeling he had spent most of his youth looking for, outside of the influence radius of his brother. 

“Thank you,” he said, meaning it this time.

“Of course, if you’d want to repay me right now, there is one thing you could do.” 

It figured. There was always a catch, always a price, always something to be given back. No free lunch, not for the Winchesters. “What do you want?” Sam asked as he turned to lean against the shelves to ground himself and block the wonders they whispered to the edges of his mind.

“I want you—” a pause. Magnus glanced down, fingers playing with the chaos on the desk and shuffling the papers there. “—to tell me what happened to my goddaughters.”

He saw the pain in the warlock’s eyes, the well-worn path of grief in the question. Sam was familiar with both the need to mourn and the incapacity to ever let go, too familiar with saying good-bye to the family that defined his world. So he took a deep breath and he started speaking. 

**CASTIEL**

“So,” Dean said after they’d cleared the last room. “Where did you guys serve?”

“What do you mean?” Jace flipped his short sword as he turned to face Dean. The movement made the runes etched along its side sing in subtle harmonics, happy and almost contented. The blade was as much an extension of the man as Castiel’s own. The thought was as confusing as it was exhilarating. Forbidden and impossible things often were. 

"Don't play that game. I've seen the way you move and how your partner goes into parade rest out of sheer habit if no one is talking to him." Dean stepped over the body of one of the witches, avoiding the slowly pooling blood. “So where did you serve?”

“Here? The Lightwoods were in New York so it’s where I was sent as a kid.”

"But you were not born here," Castiel said, slowly. Dean rolled his eyes in his usual amused display. He meant no harm in it, long used to Castiel's "people skills".

"No. I grew up in Idris." 

There was emotion there, conflicting, and normally Castiel would have puzzled over the mess of them. But the word caught his attention. It hung in the air. It was there and it wasn't there at once, like the echoes of an unrung bell or the clatter of a wind chime recently stilled. There was magic in the word, woven through it and around it, powerful _angelic_ magic. 

Castiel glanced at Dean, but he didn't seem to have noticed anything. 

"My… there was a cabin, outside of Alicante," Jace continued. "It was rural. Isolated."

More magic in the name, but weaker or maybe just weaved looser. Something that had been thrown together as an afterthought.

"Wow," Dean snorted. "Trust the big apple crowd to call Atlanta rural."

Castiel squinted. "Dean, are there signs of other gathering places?" He asked, but he kept his eyes on Jace. Once Dean sounded his non-verbal agreement and moved toward the makeshift library in the safe house, Castiel spoke again. "Tell me about Alicante."

This time he was expecting the warding, catching it as the word left his lips. He picked at the edges, unravelling it around the hallway in cotton candy threads of grace. It was old, older than some civilization, but familiar somehow. He listened as he did, attention split between the physical and the intangible. He had been a sentry, once. 

"Wait. How many?" He sputtered. By his vessel's movement in absolute space, he knew about twenty minutes had elapsed. Jace was still talking, but he'd moved away from the personal and into clipped rote reporting tones.

"How many what? Institute or active duty Shadowhunters?"

"How many nephilim?"

"120 to 130? That’s including everyone in the Clave, from the children to the elders and all the non-combatants. Probably less. There hasn't been a census in a while and we've lost a lot of people in the last few years--"

Vertigo was not something Castiel was accustomed to. He was standing and then Dean was at his side, guiding him down to the ground with the wall at his back. 

“I thought nephilim were all hunted down,” Dean said with a bluntness Castiel was thankful for. It hurt but it also went straight to the heart of the issue. They had all been hunted down, rivers of blood spilled by Castiel’s hands, Heaven had made him do it, made him follow the orders, made him wipe the Earth of all the children of angels. “And you’re telling me there’s one hundred and thirty of you in that church?”

“One hundred and thirty _thousand_. If you count everyone in the home country.” 

Dean looked up, sharply. His hand was still on Castiel’s shoulder as an attempt to ground and steady him. “You guys have a _country_?”

“Not supposed to talk about it with mundanes but…” Jace gestured towards Castiel, eyes averted as if he was scared, or deferential. “Yes. It’s one of the things Raziel gave us. A safe haven, and runes to help us fight demons.”

"Raziel doesn't have that kind of power,” Castiel interrupted. “He leads the Er'elim, but this is simply out of his reach." The grace he'd been unravelling from ward glinted gold with amused fondness, interrupting his rebuttal. "Gabriel."

"What's your brother up to? Do we need to go rescue some pornstar?"

"No. Not what he is doing. What he did."

Jace went down to one knee the other side of Castiel. His brow was furrowed and his eyes darted from Castiel to Dean. "Either of you want to explain? Did I say anything wrong?"

In his body language, unspoken, was the loud cry of a hurt child _. Did I do something wrong? Am I wrong?_

Castiel exhaled a long breath then shook with silent laughter. _Thousands_. Raziel's children, alive, beautiful, and magnificently human. He hadn't realized how heavy his heart had been with the ugly truth of what Naomi had told him, with all the missing parts of his time stolen by reconditioning. He turned his head to face Jace and smiled.

"Not at all. It is very rare that I am taken by surprise, but I assure you nothing is wrong, Jace Herondale." He pushed himself off the floor, swaying to his feet and standing up slowly.

Dean’s hand moved to his back automatically, offering support. “You gonna be ok, buddy?” The question was expected. The strong grip on his arm from the nephilim wasn’t. 

“I’m fine,” Castiel answered with a smile more genuine than any in recent memories. “I’m more than fine.” He squared his shoulders, there was still a hunt to complete, work to do. “Did you find anything of interest?”

“No other hideout,” Dean answered. “At least none written down. I did find some interesting books Sammy will probably want to add to the library.” He held up a bright pink provision bag as he spoke. Leather was visible through the crocheted wool, aged and tinted with latent power.

“All’s clear on Alec’s side,” said Jace, pocketing his cellphone. “He says to head back to Magnus.’”

“Any way we can walk?” Dean asked. “Not to be rude, and no offence Cas, but I think those portals agree with me even less than Angel Air does.”

Castiel shook his head. Dean hated the idea of flying, more than he hated the actual physical sensation and they both knew it. “It’s not that far,” he said. “We can walk.” 


	5. Chapter 5

****JACE** **

The stone floor and barren walls in Magnus’ apartment weren't new per se, but they still took Jace by surprise. The warlock hadn’t stripped down his lair like this since their first encounter and their attempt at summoning a memory demon for Clary. It felt strange now, colder and utilitarian. Jace had grown used to the soft rugs and warm colours he realized. Used to knowing there was a place for him here, for the asking. This austerity felt closer toThe Institute grounds or the training of his childhood. He didn’t like it.

The dark stone of the floor was cross-cut with chalk lines. They were geometric, forming patterns within patterns of triangles and moon crescents in mirrored kaleidoscopes. It looked nothing like the summoning circle, but it felt stronger somehow.

“Oh hey,” said the other mundane, the one that was as tall as Alec, which was weird in and of itself. He was wiping his hands with a rag, staining the fabric with chalk dust. “How did it go?”

“Walk in the park, Sammy,” Dean answered, raising the bag of books at him. “Brought you souvenirs.” 

"Oh delightful," Magnus cut in. "May I?" He didn't wait for an answer, snapping his fingers and making the books float to him. His magic sparked along the spines in various colours as he hummed in satisfaction.

"I usually don't kill four people when I go to the park," Jace mumbled under his breath. 

Apparently not low enough. Sam raised his eyebrows and shrugged with an apologetic smile. "We had a pretty messed up childhood."

"Right," Jace answered. He could sympathize, by the Angel, he knew more than most about broken children, but it didn't explain half of what had happened tonight. He'd expected more resistance from the coven. In the end, he'd been almost superfluous, covering Dean's back maybe once. If anyone had asked him yesterday if he'd let mundanes take point on a patrol he'd have scoffed. He wasn't so sure anymore.

He felt a trickle of surprise laced with worry from Alec, no doubt taking in the makeover of the apartment, which derailed his train of thought. 

"Magnus?" Alec called out from the front door. "What's going on?"

"Alexander! Why don't you have a change of clothes, while I speak with Max?" Magnus waved open the bedroom door as he spoke, indicating it wasn't quite a request. To his defence, Alec was covered with some ichor-like gunk and what was possibly blood, but it wasn't anything Magnus couldn't — and hadn't — cleaned up with a flourish. 

"What's going on?" Jace asked Sam, keeping his voice low and setting closer to the other man. 

There was a twitch and the shadow of old guilt that crossed Sam's face. His eyes darted to his brother while closed in, pulled as surely as Jace would have been by his parabatai rune.

"We—" He cleared his throat. "We figured out how to help Alicia. We think."

"What's wrong with her?" Jace asked, looking across the apartment to the woman who was smiling at Magnus.

"She died," Dean said, almost curtly when Sam didn't answer. "About two years ago." He ran a hand over his face. "You sure about this Sam? Billie is already not a huge fan of us."

"Yeah. She… Max got her soul already trapped in the twigs shell, right? So she never went fully to the veil. It's a one-time thing, kind of a loophole."

"Wait, wait, wait. Back up," said Jace. "She's _two years_ dead? And you're going to _fix_ her?"

"Yes," Sam answered. "That's the plan. If the twins are on board. And if you and Alec are. It'll take all of us." The last bit was directed at Dean and, behind him, at Castiel. But it wasn't a plea or a prayer, more like securing an answer he already knew.

"Of course," Castiel answered. As if miracles and bringing the dead back to life was routine. 

***

It’s not that Jace was a stranger to magic or to such rituals. Not after Edom, not with Magnus as a brother-in-law. None of that _helped_. He stood next to Alec on his point of the triangle, feet carefully placed on the lines as Sam had instructed them. Sam and Dean stood across from them on the second point, shoulder-to-shoulder and strangely relaxed. Magnus and Castiel took the last point with the twins kneeling in the middle of the pattern. With everyone in place he could almost see now the lines of powers being directed to the center. It didn’t make the uneasiness go away, not when it meant he could see how exactly he was being used as a magical battery. 

Magnus snapped his fingers. Jace knew it was as much for getting their attention as for the drama, that he didn’t actually need to do it for the magic to work. It flowed from him like water pouring from a dam, only more controlled and arguably less destructive. The magic filled the chalk lines now, itching up Jace’s back like electricity and then back down to tie him in place. He couldn’t have stepped away even if he’d wanted to. He could feel the echo of it from Alec, along with some level of unease. Or maybe Alec was feeling his own doubts and it echoed between them in a feedback loop. Jace took a deep breath to settle his nerves and his mind.

On the next heartbeat, the magic reached the Winchesters, making Dean wince and Sam smile with something close to elation. It seemed to feed on them, gaining momentum from the contact.

None of which prepared him for the feeling of the circuit closing, as the light danced it's way back to the start and reached Castiel. Magnus was chanting in a steady rhythm in a language that ultimately didn't matter. But the angel. The flood of warlock magic reached him and he poured back into it like a riptide. The indigo and gold of Magnus broke into bright blue-white that matched the glow in Castiel's eyes. He was vibrating or maybe talking on a plane that couldn't be seen. Jace knew that the words would be Enochian, that hearing them would be like being welcomed home. Already he could feel his runes flare on his skin, see Alec's glow gold and warm next to him. Their power, their angel blood, all their strength wanting to go towards that flood of energy, wanting to go home. 

There were tears flowing down his face. He couldn't move to wipe them off, couldn't turn to hide them. He wondered if this is how Clary felt on the shores of that lake, hands coated in Jace’s own blood and that of her father as Raziel asked her to make a wish. Did Raziel feel like a storm and like exhausted love as well? 

From all three points, the spell swelled and then poured towards the center. There was resistance there, a clash Jace couldn't have explained but instincts kicked in and he just pushed, sending as much of his energy and power into the spell as he could. He was faintly aware of the others, of the way the magic split and rejoined, always rejoined. From the inseparable family sealed in blood, to his own parabatai bound sealed by choice, to the unknowable otherness and the depth of the immortals. All of it built around the twins, a light bright enough that he had to close his eyes and it still seared through the skin.

When he could see again, the pattern on the floor was gone. Alec's hand was on his shoulder, squeezing as much to reassure Jace as himself. Both Winchesters were sitting against the wall, looking drained and exhausted. 

"Well. That went better than expected," Magnus said. "Steaks and drinks for everyone, I think".

In the middle of the room, Max and Alicia stirred awake, both of their chests rising with deep breaths as they stretched. 


	6. Epilogue

Castiel liked this wine. He had not known fairy wine could still be found around the earth. It made the edges of things go fuzzy, made the pain go away. Maybe this was why Dean drank as he did. He looked over the room, finding his wards easily. Dean was sprawled on an armchair, a glass of whiskey balanced on his chest but dead to world as he snored gently. Max and Alicia slept on the couch in front of him, softly and undisturbed by nightmares. Sam was deep in conversation with the warlock, excitement tinting the edge of his aura in ways it rarely did. Castiel made a mental note to verify how open Rowena was with sharing her pupil. It would be a shame to take this away from Sam but he didn’t want to fight the witch. He liked that she called him _pretty_.

Castiel poured more wine in his glass and turned towards the Shadowhunters, huddled on the balcony and still awake only because he could feel the stamina runes on their skins. The sun was rising above the horizon, bathing in the city in peaches and gold. The warmth felt good, after the exhaustion of the night. 

“These Institutes of yours,” he said, “they also act as schools?”

“Yeah,” Jace answered. “Until Alec can get the Academy in Idris back up and running. Why?”

Castiel hummed in thought, trying to remember the human ways these things were done. “How much would tuition be?”

After all, all the parenting books he’d read stressed how crucial it was for children to be socialized amongst peers. He smiled. Jack would hopefully be delighted by the news. 


End file.
